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_ Breaking News _

Some lunatic in a truck swerved into our lane, right in front of us.

Mick, the wolverine in the driver's seat, pumped the van's brakes.

Finn, the white shepherd in the middle seat, swore blue murder at the truck's rear bumper.

As for me, the hedgehog in the final seat, well, I grabbed hold of its cushion, wondering how we hadn't all careened right off the highway.

The traffic was chaos for what should've been a quiet late weekday morning driving through the wetlands.

I doubted everyone else heading down south were being drawn to the same place we were. Even if I myself sometimes struggled to contain the excitement that saw me fidgeting like a schoolkid.

After almost ten years as a reporter, it wasn't often I got this way when it came to heading out into the field anymore. Then again, it wasn't often that I had the pleasure of reporting on Visoka.

Yes, Visoka. Actual Visoka, coming to Polcia. To Meerland, specifically!

No matter how many times I said that to myself, I couldn't quite believe it.

And what's more, it'd be my team and I who'd have the pleasure of reporting on it.

A pleasure I don't think they shared.

"I'm still not sure the lenses I have with me are right," Finn mumbled, maybe to me, maybe to no-one in particular. "I told procurement I needed the 'ES-V's, but..."

I waited for someone to answer, maybe Mick, or maybe Finn himself.

Neither did. So, I figured I should. "Did you not check them before we left the studio?"

He growled. "I got given them five minutes before we had to leave."

"...Okay."

"The boxes looked like they were 'ES-V's."

"I'm sure they are-"

"They have to be if we're filming these overgrown Visoka! For all the low angles, it's the only model that will compensate fully."

"Never mind the filming," Mick said, hands gripping the steering wheel as tight as the road ahead was crowded.

"Eh?" Finn snapped. "Did you just say never mind the filming?"

"You got ya lenses, which is more than I can say for my mics fitted with Normalisers." The wolverine huffed, but not at the traffic. "If any Visoka wants to start speaking or shouting, well, that's a lot of deep rumbling and even more sound issues."

"The Normaliser mics won't be needed," I told Mick, then looked at Finn beside me and said, "Neither will the lenses."

Finn frowned. "And you know this how, Joel?"

"Because, from what I understand, the Visoka are only at the site on the island, and that island is inaccessible."

"Oh, from what _you_understand?"

"Yes." Things were getting as snarled-up inside our van as they were out on the road. "We're only there to interview the locals. That hotel owner. The rep from the mayor's office. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"That's what I just said, wasn't it?"

Finn spat out a growl, throwing himself against the back of his seat. "This whole thing is an exercise in pointlessness."

"Oh?" I sensed my spines starting to raise. "And how do you come to that conclusion?"

"Because I can tell you right now what we're going to hear from the locals down there, and it's nothing good."

"Well, we'll see about that, won't we."

"We will." His huff through his nose blasted my face fur. "And I know your angle on this."

"My angle?"

"If you want to see and obsess over Visoka so bad, why don't you just go see them in Bolstrovo or wherever. Or are you too scared?"

"I'm not scared!" I threw back almost automatically. My follow up didn't come so easily. "I... this isn't about me. It's about... the town."

"Mhm." His eyes narrowed as a smirk spread. "If you say so."

It took a few junctions down the highway for my spines to settle and for me to cool back down. And to forget Finn's ridiculous notion of being scared by Visoka...

Or by the idea of travelling to Bolstrovo...

Or whatever it was he was trying to suggest.

By that point, we'd made it to roughly halfway between Hoogestad, the city where our studio was based, and Zoutestrand, the town on the east coast that we had been tasked with travelling to.

Zoutestrand had always been known as a place for fishing, retirees, or retirees that liked to fish. For anyone else, it was a place you might go in the summer to avoid the holiday crowds that descended on the larger, more popular places up the coast.

At least, that was the impression I had as a younger hedgehog, growing up in Lingedam, one of those larger, more popular places.

In more recent years, however, Zoutestrand had become far more well-known across the region, across the whole country, even.

And for much more than just good fishing or quiet beaches.

"Hey, guys," I said, reaching down for my bag in the footwell. "Can I run my notes past you?"

"'course," Mick replied, far more relaxed now behind the wheel.

"Any particular reason why?" Finn asked with only a lot of spikiness.

"I'd like to check if the general topics I want to cover in the report sound good."

He shrugged and shook his head. "If you want."

"We usually do this on the drive out." I set my bag in my lap and reached in for my notes folder. "It's not usually a problem."

"Who said it's not a problem now?"

"Finn," Mick said. "What's your issue today, man?"

"No issue."

"Coulda fooled me. You're tetchy, even for you."

"Just drive the van."

"'cause I'm not doing that already, no?"

I slapped my folder and barked, "Guys!" That was enough to get them away from each other's throats. "I get this hasn't been the best drive in the world, but we have a long afternoon ahead of us."

Neither of them said anything. Mick kept his eyes on the road, while Finn kept his own focus similarly forward.

"With that in mind..." I opened my folder and pulled out my notebook. "Give me your thoughts on this."

With varying levels of approval, I started to read off and outline the general topic areas I wanted to touch on in my report from Zoutestrand.

First, I wanted to highlight how the site built on an artificial island, close to the Bakker Island nature reserve a few miles off the coast, had begun as a joint Bolstrovan-Meerlander operated weather station. A station that soon grew into a full-blown meteorological research centre, which in more recent times, had hosted the occasional mixed-size conference attended by both Bolstrovan and Meerlander politicians.

Then, I thought it would have been appropriate to move on to explain how the expansion would include an official, permanent, Bolstrovan diplomatic mission on the island. A consulate.

I'd also figured it'd be important to note that like the weather facility, and unlike the embassy in the capital, of course, everything would be built to Visoka scale, and would therefore be host to Bolstrovan staff of all sizes.

"Fine so far," said Mick.

I leaned forward to better see him in the driver's seat. "Only fine?"

"Yeah."

"...Okay" I turned my head further, towards, "Finn?"

The white shep beside me shrugged, his face twisting like someone had smacked it. "Sounds fine to me, too."

With a huff through my nose and a bite of my tongue, I let that lie. I hoped the rest of my notes would get a livelier response.

The next bullet point I wanted to cover involved the background of the expansion.

It had been several years in the making, with numerous hurdles in the form of local protests and petitions stalling any significant progress.

But with the previous year's re-election of Esther Albers as prime minister, and her pro-integration United Workers' Party gaining majority control of parliament, Meerlander-Bolstrovan relations had grown even closer. This had helped push the project along at full speed. To the point, in fact, where ground was expected to be broken on the consulate construction site as early as the following month.

Finn grumbled as I finished my outline. "Is that it?"

That pushed me back in my seat. "So far... yes."

"That's pretty bare," he scoffed. "Barely any focus on the fact it's going to be full of massive-sized buildings. No talk of all the extra Visoka workers that'll be in them. And all just a couple of miles off the coast.

"I don't-"

"That's not even to mention how plans are pressing on in spite of all the protests in the town, and elsewhere. The people couldn't be satisfied, so we're being ignored instead."

"This is outside the scope-"

"We can't gloss over that, Joel." Finn jabbed a finger out at me. "And _you_shouldn't try to."

I put up a hand, trying to reel him and that throbbing vein in his forehead back in again. "There's only so long this report can be. We can't cover the whole of the last six, seven years in full."

He showed me his own palm, but I think that was more to tell me what I should talk to.

Thankfully, there was a third voice in the van to get us past this standoff.

"'s like I said before, I think it's fine," Mick said with a welcomed calm. "Only thing is... might be a bit wordy."

"It's a report. It's going to be 'wordy'."

"A'ight, too many words, then." He flashed me a cautious look, then turned back to the road. "I reckon we can let the people you interview tell the story better. No offence."

"None taken." I took a deeper breath as I mulled over Mick's thoughts. 'Wordy' report or not, he did have a good point. "Hopefully we can get some good interaction with the people we're interviewing. The locals, too, maybe."

We wound our way through the wetlands, making it to the outskirts of Zoutestrand about a half hour later.

Zoutestrand was a decent-sized town, nestled on a bay towards the very south of Meerland's eastern coast. Thick forests and the sprawling Lakelands secluded it from other towns and villages further inland, giving it a peaceful charm that I began to appreciate even before we made it into the town proper.

Tree-lined main roads into Zoutestrand soon gave way to smaller, grey brick-paved streets, lined with row after row of narrow, two and three-storey terraced houses.

The more streets we passed, the closer we got to the coast, the more signs of the town's focus on tourism came into view.

We passed small hotels that were part of some of those terraces, souvenir stores and stalls almost overflowing with all kinds of disposable tat. There were rental offices, too, for those wishing to have a bike to get around town, or to get fishing rods for a slower-paced time down by the shore.

The streets remained small, tight, but some of the buildings grew tall, like the six-storey apartment building overlooking a small, flowery square lined with cafes, pubs, restaurants and other little storefronts.

That whole time we crept and meandered through the town, almost every person we passed found themselves drawn to our van, plastered as it was in the ZMN Network's logo. Truly, Zoutestrand was a quieter, quainter version of the city where I grew up in so many ways... Perhaps even quieter than I had anticipated.

It was late May, after all. Not quite summertime, sure, but... I would have expected to see far more people milling around those stores or sitting outside those restaurants and cafes, all enjoying such a nice, sunny day.

Our first interview was with the owner of a 'Prince Hendrik Hotel', a small Bed & Breakfast located a couple of streets back from the seafront.

I'd made a concerted effort to do my homework on this guy, a greying red fox in his fifties. Ultimately, however, there wasn't a whole lot of work required to discover what he was all about.

When I spoke to him on the phone a couple of weeks prior, he sounded only too happy about the possibility of meeting us, to share his story. So much so, I had to battle to stop him from venting too much about 'The Visoka' and how much they were going to be an 'even bigger problem'.

From that point onwards, I knew I'd have my work cut out for me in this interview. More exactly, I knew I'd have to work hard to keep my balance throughout it.

On the plus side, I wagered that he and Finn would get on like a house on fire...

We pulled up at our destination; a three-storey hotel in a terrace row, located across from another small square home to a compact sandwich shop and a booth offering tourist information. Neither of them appeared busy, for which the same could be said of the restaurant adjoining the side of our interviewee's hotel.

"I'll go in and introduce ourselves," I said to both Mick and Finn as they turned their heads over their shoulders towards the back of the van. "Will you be okay bringing the equipment in?"

Finn grunted. "Don't you go worrying about us."

"All good," Mick said. "'s not that much."

I gave him a nod, tried not to glare at Finn for too long, then climbed out of the van to head inside.

A modest front door allowed access to a compact lobby area, offering room enough for a two-seater waiting couch against one wall, a spiral staircase against the other, and a reception desk straight ahead.

The doe receptionist seemed busy, scribbling something down in a notebook of some kind. Perhaps it'd not be too much of a disruption to ask for her boss.

I started across the lobby, a few steps taking me halfway. With a hand raised, I opened my mouth and was about to greet her.

Until a set of double-doors on my right burst open.

"Hello!" A red fox charged towards me at speed. "You're with ZMN, yes?"

He shocked me into a staggered sideways step.

"I saw your van outside."

Then a second, equally unsteady stride that instantly raised my spines and nearly sent me falling onto that couch. "Uh, yes."

"Bert." The fox less offered, more threw out a hand, smile wide, eyes bright. "Bert de Roode."

"Joel Graafland." I reached out to shake. "Mr. De Roode, we spoke-"

"We spoke on the phone!" But he grabbed my hand first, giving me the strongest, keenest fucking handshake I'd ever had to experience. "Thank you for coming down."

I gritted my teeth through the pain. "Thank you for having-"

"It means a lot. To have this chance." He looked at the receptionist. "Ada, if anyone calls for me, I'm out, okay?"

"Of course."

That big, persistent smile came back my way as he gestured back to the doors he'd burst out from. "Please, come through."

"Thank-"

"Would you care for a drink?" He spun on his heels and strode off through the double-doorway. "Tea, coffee? Beer, wine?"

"No-"

"Will you need help setting up?"

"I- No, but thanks." I chased on after him. This was how I imagined getting caught in a hurricane felt. "We'll be fine. My colleagues will be here in a moment to get ready."

Following him through the doors, we entered a far larger room than I'd anticipated. A restaurant area, complete with its own bar.

Seemingly, that restaurant I saw 'next door' was actually part of this place.

As large as this dining area was, for a little after lunchtime, it wasn't very busy at all. Only a couple of the tables were occupied, with only the same number of barstools in use, also.

That would make for limited potential for disruption during the interview at least. And it'd make it easy to find a good spot to set up.

Both Mick and Finn arrived not a minute after, quickly agreeing that the plain back wall of the restaurant offered the best place to conduct the interview. The sunlight pouring in from outside felt good on one's fur, and for one's spirits, but against that wall, that bright light would be the least disruptive.

As the pair of them got to work with the setup, ensuring the camera, mic, and lighting were all as they should be, something nudged me on my arm.

I turned, found the owner. He beckoned me to follow him to one side.

"I must say," he said at half-volume. "I cannot say strong enough how much I dislike the situation we have here."

"Situation?"

"Yes." The fox leaned in closer. "In Zoutestrand. The giants, the Visoka."

"...Ah."

"If it wasn't bad enough they dredged up an entire island and allowed for this so-called weather station, now, that idiot Albers, she's letting them expand to do who knows what over there."

I held my tongue. Gods knew how, but I managed. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to upset a guy we'd driven over an hour to interview. No matter his... viewpoint.

"Expand the island? Allow more of their kind in? We don't want any more of those oversized cu-"

"Okay," I said with a snap I caught midway through. "This is all great, great, really, but Mr. De Roode--"

"Please, jongen, call me Bert."

"Alright, Bert, this is good, but... let's save it for when the cameras are rolling, eh?"

"Of course, of course." He threw up a hand and grinned. "It's just so good to be able to tell our story to someone who will actually listen."

I'm positive I could feel a warmth on the back of my neck. A warmth _not_from the sun.

As I turned to face it, I instead saw Finn looking at me past the camera he was setting up. His sharp smile suggested the owner hadn't stayed as quiet as he might've meant to.

I cleared my throat and walked the white shep's way. "Are we ready?"

"Ready," he replied, sharpening that smile only further. "Very ready."

We all gathered to get the very lasts of the preparation complete, and to get us all appropriately positioned.

The owner was sitting intently on one side of a restaurant table, looking ready to literally spring himself into the interview... and the camera.

I was at the head of the table, meanwhile, positioned just right so that Finn could easily pan his camera after my introduction.

"Mr. De Roode- uhm, Bert."

He pulled his focus over to me. "Yes?"

"One small... tip. Try to forget the camera, and look at me." I smiled as wide and warmly as I could. "It helps... for you, to speak comfortably. Like a regular conversation."

"Right, right, yes." He raised an apologetic hand. "I will. I will do."

With everything ready, everyone set, I got my signal from the team to give our interview a go.

"We're here with Bert de Roode, owner of the Prince Hendrik Hotel in Zoutestrand, to get a local view regarding the offshore developments that are about to get underway here."

I turned in my seat. Finn and his camera followed.

"Mr. De Roode, thank you for your time today..."

"No," he replied with a forceful nod and a broad grin. "Thank _you_for coming down here."

"Could you tell us please, what has been your experience since the news broke regarding plans for this new Bolstrovan consulate offshore?"

His grin disappeared in an instant. "Awful."

That was far briefer than I expected. "Awful in what way?"

He glared at the camera. Only for a moment before he turned it to me. "We don't want this. We don't need this."

"...Would you care to expand a little, please?"

"Absolutely." He extended and pointed a finger at me. "This was a great place before the weather station was built on that new island. Before those political meetings there." His serious frown overtook any lingering contentment. "For the last few years, there has been this... feeling around the town. An uncertainty. No-one can ever stop to think about anything other than the Bolstrovans across the water... The Visoka ones. How can you have a happy place for visitors and locals in this situation?" Then, he sat back and shrugged. "You can't. Not at all. A daft idea with no thought to normal people."

Mr. De Roode was expressing himself, and only glancing at the camera for a moment here and there. With that, we would have a usable interview for the report at least.

I wished for more than that, though. More than pure negativity in an unstoppable stream.

But I would need to be delicate to achieve this.

"Some have spoken about the potential _positive_impacts from this development. Can you share your thoughts on that?"

His eyes narrowed. His frown deepened.

Thankfully, a coarser tone aside, he didn't react as badly as I feared. "Positives? I can't say I have spoken to many in town who can offer any positives to this."

He stopped to watch me with a look as if he was chewing a wasp.

I searched my mind for ways to get him going again. A little verbal nudge that wouldn't seem too guiding.

But he soon restarted of his own volition.

"Visitor numbers are down year on year, and those that do come only wish to see the island and nothing more. They do not care for the town, for the sights, the attractions. Just the island, and then they leave. How can a place that relies on tourism survive like this?"

I stayed silent throughout his challenging glare, leaving him to head further in his own direction.

"And now, they want to expand further, have a government office for Bolstrovo, also for the Visoka, here. I am against it. We should _not_be allowing them to do this. To expand into Meerland, into Polcia." He shook his head, and in a calmer, almost resigned voice, he said, "It's so wrong... What would my parents', my grandparents' generations have thought about all of this? The horrors they had to go through..."

Our interview continued and concluded in much the same vein as our start.

Mr. De Roode could and would only focus on the downsides, the negatives, and could offer nothing for contrast, even with the occasional attempt at suggestion from myself.

As much as I found his viewpoint archaic, and his opinions in some cases, such as those about 'giants', ghastly... I could understand them.

It might've been sixty years since the war ended, and while it wasn't the Bolstrovans we were fighting against back then... the lingering scars didn't leave much room for distinction among some.

We left the hotel and started loading our van in receipt of the owner's very best wishes, as well as yet more of this deepest thanks. He'd got his story told and off his chest, and he would get it into the thoughts of others here in South Meerland.

For the most part.

We all climbed into our van, readying ourselves to depart.

Mick had barely closed his door before I said, "We'll need to edit the hell out of that interview."

Finn fastened his belt in the seat between us, then replied, "He made some good points."

"Between his ramblings, sure." I watched the shep sit back, then start rubbing the back of his own fist. "He also looked at the camera. More than once."

"He's not the first to do that."

"And he won't be the first we have to edit the hell out of."

He grumbled. "Just as long as we don't edit out his concerns."

I held back a groan of my own. "I don't intend to."

"Good."

I let that comment go, hoping the dead air might absorb the tension rising in the van.

If not that, then maybe a change in the angle of focus would help?

"This is good to think about," I said to Finn with his crossed arms, and also to Mick with one hand on the wheel and his other slipping the key into the ignition. "The way our report is going to be put together. To strike a balance."

Finn looked at me from the corner of his eye. "And what sort of _balance_do you think we'll strike?"

Somehow, I smiled through gritted teeth. And somehow, I pushed past my desire to snap back at him and this awkward attitude of his. "I want to get as many positive views as negative ones. _That's_the balance we should strike."

"So, in _my_opinion..." He sighed, then turned his head fully to me. "We're going to get a lot more views like this guy."

"I don't-"

"He said it himself; people aren't happy about how things are going down here."

"Maybe so, but... I can't believe _everyone_feels the same way."

"I can."

My smile collapsed. I couldn't bite down any longer.

Luckily, Mick came to the rescue. "Let's see what we get, yeah? See how we can fit together after."

The wolverine had a point. We'd only spoken to one local business owner so far. I was probably jumping the gun with talk of balance.

"Besides," he continued. "The final edit's gonna be according to Paul back at the station. He's the director, and it'll be his call."

I couldn't deny that.

Nor could Finn, thank the gods.

Mick turned the key and fired the van up into life. "Where to now?"

I checked my watch. Found the time to be a little before 2pm. "We have a couple of hours before our interview with this guy from the mayor's office. I'd say we should find a busier place to set up to interview people on the street."

"Sounds good," Mick replied. "But maybe a quick lunch first, yeah? Since we never got the chance to stop on the way, with the traffic and all."

I nodded, then took one last look at the hotel. "Maybe not here, though."

"No?" Finn murmured from within his sulk. "And why's that, then?"

"Because it's a little dead for my taste." I couldn't resist challenging him in return. "Why? What did you think I meant?"

He didn't have a comeback to that, other than to cross his arms tighter.

Good.

Mick threw the van into gear and got us moving forward and away from this hotel, its owner.

And, hopefully, those opinions of his, too.

We found ourselves a small cafe-style eatery just off the seafront road. One a measure more active than the hotel restaurant, but still with plenty of space to fit us.

The stench of fish struck first upon entering, closely followed behind by the sheer number of seafood dishes, mostly fried, listed on the menu. Far more than I cared for, frankly.

At least a few of their sandwiches sounded good.

We ordered our lunches and found ourselves a table in the rear corner. From there, gazing out of the front window, I could catch the slightest glimpse of the beach beyond the corner of the store opposite.

As well as the four-strong group of gentlemen at a table between ours and the counter. A bear, a cat, and a pair of beavers.

They were on the older but not old side. Fishermen, judging by the style of all vests, jackets and hats massed on the back of chairs and free tables around them.

Boldly, and very loudly, they were speaking in Meerlander between themselves and the otter couple in the open kitchen that I assumed owned this place.

They were talking about all sorts, from the mundane like the weather, to the more interesting, like what they thought about the goings on across the water. Little of the latter was mentioned positively; a fact I refused to turn to Finn to acknowledge.

From there, as we tucked into our lunches, the old boys kept on talking, kept on shouting, churning through subject after topic.

Until they got around to talking about us.

Open and unashamedly, as if we weren't sitting five feet away. As if, somehow, their speaking in Meerlander kept their talk a secret, and that my team and I couldn't possibly be fluent in it ourselves.

I made a point of sticking to Polcian whenever I had something to say, to keep up the charade. Mick obliged, and to my surprise, and his credit, Finn did, too.

As we sat there chewing our food that much slower, ears perked that much higher, the fishermen and the owners dove deep into thoughts reeking of insecurity, just as this place did of fish.

They wondered among themselves if we were here to whitewash things, to make things more agreeable to the cityfolk.

The bear suggested that the money we were surely getting from Bolstrovo was more important than reporting the truth.

One of the beavers then proposed that the money was all the Meerlander government's, and that we were here as propaganda to make the increasing number of Bolstrovans off the coast seem normal.

...Then they started to wonder how the Visoka-sized Bolstrovans might go about attacking the mainland.

What a bizarre, paranoid little town this was.

"I told you," Finn muttered from over his sandwich. "Expect more opinions just like at the hotel. And just like here."

I decided to take a big bite out of my own lunch rather than reply. Chew after teeth-clacking chew, I told myself I'd find a different viewpoint in Zoutestrand, even if it killed me.

No way was this report going to be nothing but negative, so help me, gods.

A strong, cooling breeze swept through the street as I finally stepped out of that place. It carried that salty sea air that instantly took me back to younger days growing up in Lindedam.

Saltier, even. Or maybe it just seemed that way to my unaccustomed nose.

I stopped to take a look down towards the beach, far more visible compared to back inside.

"A'ight, where we heading to set up?" Mick asked as he followed me outside. "One of those squares we passed on the way in might work."

"Shouldn't really matter," Finn replied, the last of us to leave the cafe. "Anywhere that's at least a little busy should do the trick."

They passed me on their way back to the van, but they couldn't break my focus on the waterfront.

Or the sight that had me locked to the spot.

"'ey Joel," Mick called from the kerbside. "You coming?"

I didn't respond right away. Instead, I watched the group of youngsters, older teenagers, maybe, gathered on the pavement running closest and parallel to the seafront.

They were standing at the top of a stairway that led down to the beach proper, gazing off towards the cloudless horizon, and the island clearly visible before it. Their chatter was loud but not quite audible.

From as far away as this, a couple of miles or so, making out anything on that island other than trees and greenery proved tricky... But that was enough for me to realise that I was looking at Bakker Island.

The island being expanded and built upon, the one that'd first been dredged up to house the weather facility, must've been the one jutting and extending out from a little closer to the pure-blue horizon.

Something shoved me on the shoulder.

A hand. White.

Finn's.

"Hey," he barked. "Are you coming, or are you going to stand around all day?"

"No," I snapped back.

"No?" The white shepherd frowned, then stepped back. "No, what?"

"Let's head down to the beachside. We can get an interview down there."

He turned to look towards the seafront, too, soon letting out a firm, huffy, "Hmpf."

"What?"

"You want to interview them? The jongens?"

"Why not?" I could fight the smirk that burst forth onto my muzzle. "They're there, and I'd say there's enough of them to get a range of opinions." And, I couldn't stop myself from pushing things one step further. "And it'd be nice to hear from a different generation for a change."

Finn looked one step down from apoplectic. Mick, watching and listening from the van beyond the shep's shoulder, appeared far more relaxed.

"Listen." I held up my hands. "If they say no, are no good, or it just doesn't work out, we can go someplace else. I figured we would do anyway, given the time we have to fill."

Either that won him round, or Finn simply couldn't find a counter-argument.

No matter the case, I leaned to look past him and tell Mick, "Let's gather up the gear and head on down there."

It took only a few minutes to get ourselves ready and make the short walk down to the shore.

As we got out of the small sideroad we'd eaten lunch on, we could see so much more of the beach, the sea, and everything else between the seafront buildings and the horizon-lining islands.

Several piers extended out from above this shore's sands, from smaller ones meant for fishing, to a larger one housing funfair-like rides and attractions.

Further down the coast, lines of concrete and metal carried a road bridge far across the water, stopping maybe two-thirds of the way to the island shores opposite, cranes reaching up from sea-level to tower over its incomplete end.

Zoutestrand might not have been a Lindedam, or any other larger coastal city, but... this was a view that captivated like nothing else, if only because of what these extensions towards those islands on the horizon represented.

At least, what it represented in my mind. And, perhaps, the minds of these youngsters, too.

"Hey, jongens," I called a few seconds' walk from the group. "Can we grab you for just a moment, please?"

One by one they turned to me, five friends looking various levels of bemused by my question.

Or maybe just by Mick and Finn carrying their equipment.

"We're from ZMN," I said to the big rabbit who'd looked our way first.

"...The news channel?" he asked in return.

"That's the one." We all stopped a couple of strides from him, the collie and smaller rabbit on his left, and the vixen and otter to his right. "We are down here today reporting on the new consulate being built on the island."

They all murmured their approval, with the collie speaking up to confirm her thoughts. "It's well good though, innit?"

"Actually," I replied, masking my smile from them, and Finn, as much as I could. "More exactly, finding out what people think about it is what we're doing right now."

They kept mumbling and smiling with positivity, speaking between themselves for a moment before I posed the question.

"Can we take a few minutes to get your thoughts, on camera?"

Their positivity intensified into excitement, with a whole lot said practically all at once.

"For real?" "Cool!" "We gonna be on TV, that's well mad."

I held up my hands and stepped closer, my delight fully unmasked. "That's a yes?"

"Hell yeah!" "Definitely!" "'course!"

I turned back to Mick and Finn, both of whom were already getting their shotgun mic and shoulder camera set up and ready. The wolverine looked content enough while the white shep seemed to want to be anywhere else but the seafront.

Too bad. We were getting these young guys' and girls' views on film, whether he liked it or not.

The group stayed gathered where they were while we finished our brief setup, their backs to the beach, the sea, and the islands.

Their chorus of excitement remained very loud and crystal clear at the top of those steps leading down to the sands. Enough so that the occasional person heading up or down them couldn't help but turn to notice.

"Alright, jongens." I raised a hand to get their attention away from one another, and from Finn's camera, so that we could get things underway. "What are your thoughts about this new Bolstrovan consulate being built just off the coast here?"

All five of them spoke at once. Just for a second or two. I couldn't hate their eagerness to get going, but I was glad when the tall rabbit managed to speak above and quieten the rest of them.

"Some people, they reckon it's too close," he said with full, confident force. "It ain't."

"Nope!" cried the otter. "I live in an apartment, yeah? Sixth floor. Got a proper good view of the island from up there."

"You fell snout into butter on that," said the vixen next to him. "Well jealous."

"Same!" The smaller rabbit called. "Gonna be class when the big buildings start going up."

The collie beside him beamed a smile and said, "Wonder if we gonna be able to see the Visoka there, an'all."

"Hope so!"

"Maybe with binoculars or summin'," the otter suggested. "Gonna buy meself some ready!"

Not a chance could I have stopped my chirp at all their excitement. If I were in their shoes, I'd wager I'd be screaming and shouting in much the same way.

Even so, and as Finn would have been only too keen to remind me, I had to remain professional. To ask the right questions.

"What of the negative side?" I posed, taking a second to properly shape the rest of my question in the face of their frowns. "Some people are against the expansion of the island, the facility. They say it hurts tourism here."

"Pfft, no chance," snapped the big rabbit, throwing his arms into a fold. "I don't get that, man."

"Me neither," the vixen scoffed. "Zoutestrand being dull as is what hurts tourism."

"Bang on." That suggestion seemed to kick the shorter rabbit into gear. "Can't even play handball on the square without some greymuzzle kickin' off about it."

"Gotta get the bus to Vollendrecht just to find a good club," the vixen added.

The collie pointed in agreement her way. "Unless you wanna go spendin' a Saturday night in an old man pub, innit."

"I don't get it," said the otter, suddenly the calmest, most serious of them all. "Bolstrovo, they're our friends, yeah? Allies and all that." He leaned back against the beachside railing with a fast, stiff shrug. "So then, what's the big deal having them here? Bet we've got government offices, embassies, consulates or whatever you wanna call 'em over there, too."

The whole group went quiet. Just for a few seconds.

Until the shorter rabbit spoke up to say to his friend, "Barry over there in Sturanja's a mate, anyway." He then turned back to me to explain, "He's Visoka. We play First Strike online with him." Finally, he waved to the camera. "Hey, Barry!"

"Bro," grumbled the bigger rabbit. "He ain't gonna see this."

"How so?"

"You really think they get ZMN out there, dumbass?"

"Pfft, whatever."

We soon recovered from the momentary distraction that was those two friends, or maybe brothers, giving each other a hard time.

The group spent another minute or so throwing out a whole collection of good, positive comments.

They spoke about how it made no sense to treat them like aliens, or monsters, just because they were big, and that having more of them close might help people learn to stop 'freaking out' about them.

They also insisted that Visoka-spotting from the shore would offer up more excitement, for tourists and locals alike, than anything else in town...

With the group's comments and opinions well-heard and recorded so clearly, I offered up my most sincere thanks before we left them to continue their day on the seafront.

I wasn't sure what the others made of what we'd got out of those few minutes with them, but in all frankness, after all the spikiness and negativity that'd preceded them, I wasn't sure I cared.

Actually, that was a lie. I'd have cared for Mick's insight if I'd cared to ask for it.

We made our way back to the van a short time after, packing up in preparation to drive around and find a few more locations, busy and picturesque, where we could conduct a few more on-street interviews.

For all the faults of Zoutestrand, the negativity, the paranoia, and the dullness according to some, it was certainly a pretty place.

So many of the small, terraced stores in the town centre were painted bright summery blues, pinks, and yellows, with flowery pots adoring the sills of the windows on the upper floors. Between those terraces, above the streets, criss-crossing bunting waved their colours in the soothing sea breeze.

Even the odd brick apartment building overlooking these store rows played their part, rising in tanned browns, bold reds, and subtle oranges, their front corners sculpted into majestic curved balconies.

None of that was to mention the large squares and compact plazas nestled between them all, offering places to shop, to wander, or to simply relax beneath trees or beside a fountain.

And it'd be within a few of those that we'd aim to hear from more of the townsfolk.

We must have interviewed twenty, thirty passersby in the time we spent touring around, and in the process, we got to meet a whole spectrum of people.

From locals to a few tourists, from younger to mostly older. All of them had their opinions to voice and their thoughts to share.

Some were positive but soft-spoken, sharing a strong but muted excitement about the prospect of closer ties to Bolstrovo, and to Western Velika in general. A few shared similar views to the group on the seafront, keen to experience what it might be like to have Visoka, real life Visoka, living and working mere miles offshore.

Others... most... they shared similar fears and concerns to those we'd already heard in spades. They told us they felt betrayed, that they'd been sacrificed in the name of money. One husband and wife even mentioned how they were planning to sell their home of thirty years to move north, to leave this 'farcical proposition' behind.

Meanwhile, a sizeable number showed us that paranoid delusions weren't restricted to where we'd grabbed lunch. One raccoon insisted that the military ought to be stationed here, just in case any Visoka 'got any ideas'.

Another guy, a wolf hanging onto his very last hinge, well, he went as far as to suggest that this was all part of some greater plan for 'Velika' to finally succeed in 'resettling' the Polcian continent.

His was a brief interview.

Brief, and one that'd be finding the cutting room floor at great velocity.

Satisfied with the number and variety of interviews we'd got under our belts, Finn, Mick and I approached the van to pack up one last time before heading off for our final interview of the day. A packing that would be far more eventful than I anticipated after Finn spoke up for the first time since outside the cafe.

"So much tension," he said, loading a few cables into the side door.

"Hmm?" I slipped past him to toss the last of the cables in myself. "Tension?"

"Yes." He kept his focus inside the van. "You can sense it. In the air."

"I can't."

"Pfft." Finn glared at me for just a second before bending to gather his camera up from the pavement. "If you say so."

I had a good look around to make sure nobody in the small, store-lined plaza we'd departed was close enough to hear before saying, "A few older folk worried about things sixty years in the past."

"And older folk aren't allowed to have an opinion?" Into the van went his camera. The white shep finally turned to face me properly. "Or their worries?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

"I didn't imply anything." Never mind tension in the air. I could well-sense the tightness his snapping had put in my jaw. "It would just make more sense if they were worried for a good reason."

"You don't think all this going on off the coast is good reason?"

I couldn't keep myself from groaning right in his face. "Not enough for some of the paranoid delusions we've been hearing today. Talking to us like they think we're from the local rag."

"Godsdamn," he snarled, muzzle fully creased. "I don't know how or why you're so fine and happy about all this! You're like those idealistic jongens on the seafront."

"It's not idealistic, it's just not para-"

"How can you act like this is all for the best?" he snapped, harsher still. "Do you really_believe they can be trusted? That it's safe to have them this close to Polcia? _Permanently?"

"Yes," I roared, stepping forward as he retreated backwards. It took me a moment to find words to match the force I'd closed him down with. "Like that kid said, Bolstrovo... they're allies, and they have been for decades."

"And during the war?"

"They helped as much as they could as neutrals beside an empire, and you know that. How many thousands of Maleni Bolstrovans came to Polcia to fight along with us?"

"It's not the Maleni ones we need to worry about."

I unleashed something of a canine snarl of my own. To hell with anyone that might've heard it. "If they were going to try and invade, they already would have! Why go to all this trouble, with the weather station, wait all this time, get _this_close, just to burn it all down?"

"I don't know!" Finn threw up his arms. "Why trust any Visoka to act rationally? They didn't sixty years ago, so why now?"

"Because these aren't-!" My anger broke down into a frustrated grunt of a sigh. "This _isn't_the Republic of Velika moving in, and even if it were... I just-"

"Whatever." He pushed past me, striding towards the van's passenger-side door. "They're all the same to me, and I don't get why you're so thrilled about even more of _them_coming here."

We were going around in circles. I respected Finn, I _do_respect Finn, but on this, I knew we'd never in a million years see eye to eye.

I didn't have anything else to say. Nothing I _wanted_to say, either.

He'd never understand me on this...

"'ey!" Mick called, shocking me into noticing him looking over his shoulder from the driver's seat. "Why you two getting so heated?"

"It..." I then realised I hadn't even noticed the wolverine climb into the van. How deep into that argument _had_I got? "We-"

"We're here just to interview," he said. "Nothing we do or say here is gonna change anything so... Relax, yeah?" He then turned to look through the passenger door window. "That goes for you, too, shep."

From the side door, I turned to Finn, and from the passenger door, he glanced at me.

Mick... he had a point. Again.

And judging by Finn's pursed-lipped smile, I think he knew it, too.

"A'ight." Mick started the van chugging back into life. "Get that damn door closed so we can go get this last interview in the bag. Maybe we can get outta here early enough to avoid more carnage on the way back home."

The last interview to be conducted that day was our main reason for being sent down to Zoutestrand.

Our 4pm 'appointment' with a representative from the mayor's office was to be the main feature of our report, but I couldn't help but feel... underwhelmed by that idea.

I'd interviewed plenty of local politicians and their staff in my time, and not once did I ever feel like it'd been a worthwhile exercise. Most answers to any and all questions sounded as if they were lifted right out of a political playbook, with the remainder being deflections that said a lot but told us nothing.

No chance was this guy going to tell us anything insightful or important, and no way was he going to voice his true opinions like the regular people we'd interviewed.

But, still, he'd be the focus. Because that's just how it was.

Bah. Maybe I was just bitter. In a bad mood.

I still had my argument with Finn on my mind as we turned back onto the sunny seafront road, our destination stretching far out into the water beyond the fishing piers and towards the island.

The unfinished bridge had been requested as the interview spot by the mayor's office for reasons unclear. Not that I minded. In fact, that part was the only thing about this interview that excited me.

Getting onto that bridge, even part way towards the end of it, would get us as close as we could've possibly got to the island without permission to actually go there. That was probably for the best in retrospect; Finn more likely than not would have had a heart attack during any boat ride across the water.

Myself, on the other hand, I was happy to settle for being in such close proximity to those opposite shores. We'd have a spectacular background in which to frame this final interview... And... Well, perhaps simply looking upon land walked upon by Visoka would be fulfilling enough.

We slowed down for a newly-built junction surrounded by freshly-planted trees and gardens, turning onto a gentle slope that lifted us towards the starts of this new bridge extending above the beach and over the water.

The bubbling of my anticipation would rise along with the van, plateauing only for as long as it took us to show our documentation to the security guards blocking public access. They soon moved aside and parted the barriers for us, advising that the mayor's rep had passed through not a few minutes earlier.

If we weren't fast to the end of the bridge, we might end up keeping him waiting. A prospect I had no qualms with whatsoever.

An empty, two-lane wide road stretched ahead of us, concrete and metal guardrails lining either side, funnelling us further and further across the waters sparkling beneath the late-afternoon sun at our backs.

We'd soon sped beyond even the longest of wooden fishing piers, and quickly thereafter, we'd made it further out to sea than the largest pier and its funfair rides up shore.

After that, we had only the water to our left, to our right, and straight ahead, this huge bridge the exception.

And the islands it reached towards, of course.

All three of us were silent as those shores seemed to approach. To grow.

Only the comfortable running of the engine provided a backdrop to that sight. One I simply couldn't pull myself away from.

All my anticipation, all my excitement, fused together as we raced closer and closer to its source. To what I'd longed to see for... so much of my life.

At that one brief moment in time, I wasn't Joel Graafland, thirty-five, reporter for the ZMN Network.

Instead, I was just Joel, the ten-year-old kid, looking out of his bedroom window into the night.

I remembered imagining what it might be like to see a Visoka, taller than the trees, and the houses, walking on past my own.

Maybe they'd come say hello, I'd think.

Maybe they'd come to talk.

Maybe, they'd come whisk me away from all the bullies that loved to pick on the smallest hedgehog in class... even if just for a little while.

Dwelling on those thoughts started to turn the islands watery. I wiped my eyes and came back to the present, thinking about how I'd always wanted to go to Bolstrovo, Vodaskal, or somewhere else I could see them. Meet them...

Maybe one day. When my own nerves about travelling to such a place were lessened.

I put a hand to my face, finger rubbing the bridge of my snout as the waters threatened to flow again.

'If you want to see and obsess over Visoka so bad, why don't you just go see them in Bolstrovo or wherever. Or are you too scared?'

As much as I'd tried to hide it, tried to deny it, Finn's comment from our drive down to Zoutestrand had burrowed its way into my brain.

Believe me, as someone who dreamed of meeting a Visoka, but was too scared to actually attempt it, I was well aware of the irony.

My hypocrisy was well on my radar, too, with all my chiding thoughts about this town and its fear of Visoka, while I...

I was much like them.

And it hurt my very soul to know that.

The pavementless bridge rolled on and on, carrying me and the weight of my thoughts ever onwards.

About halfway, its arrowing line began to curve ever so, aiming around the first island that housed the nature reserve, and towards the second hiding behind it.

But hiding no longer.

Second by second, as we pushed further and further, more and more of the new island revealed itself. A man-made structure of sorts, but one that couldn't be distinguished from its smaller natural neighbour.

Sprawling sands still met the water, still met the verdancy inland. Shallow hill peaks undulated, carving out a character for this new land all of its own. Similar yet so distinct to that beside it.

The blue sea, too, still met the bluer skies on the horizon, but as we'd journeyed on, these islands had come forth to spread themselves even greater lengths across it. Separate now, but still together. Dominating the viewscape.

My thoughts, dreams, fears, all were pushed aside by the notion that we must've been some of the first to ever have that view. A view that impressed itself upon me, and that would linger in my memory like the perfect picture postcard.

Whether it be the island itself, or the knowledge of what stood, and would stand upon it, my heart hammered harder and faster, a lump forming in my throat as a fullness welled up within the whole of me.

A humbling sense of personal triviality that left me so, so small within my seat.

Never mind my thoughts, never mind my fears, or those of anyone else.

These truly were times that would change everything and everyone. Forever.

Andno words said, no argument had, no interview conducted with any politician or otherwise, would ever come close to expressing that.

We pulled up behind a swank black luxury car a short while later, parked a few hundred feet from the barriers and waterborne cranes marking the end of the completed section of bridge.

My heart was still pumping by the time Mick had switched the engine off and opened his door. It might've been my job, but on such a crashing, crushing comedown, amid those surroundings... conducting that interview was the last thing I wanted to do.

The mayor's representative stood in wait beside his expensive car, with two large, suit-wearing bears flanking the far smaller, equally overdressed stoat on either side.

A lot of security for the assistant to a small town mayor, I thought. Even one as smarmy-looking as this guy.

"Thank you _so_much for coming down," he sang, arms out, his smile wide. The whole of it, exaggerated. As was the way his arm almost twirled as he offered a hand. "Robert Hesselink."

"Joel," I replied, fast and informal. My handshake, too. Too much so. As if I was subconsciously trying to counteract him. "...Graafland."

"My_deepest_apologies that the mayor could be here today." We shook and separated. Thankfully. "He's a very busy man with all that's unfolding here these days, but I'm sure I'll suit this just fine."

Self important, too. Great...

"Look at all this is before us," he called to anyone who might listen, turning with arms even further spread to look out upon the islands. "What a magnificent sight. Glorious, even."

Finally, the first thing about this stoat, and the interview, that had me feeling something other than disdain.

My crew and I, along with those close-following security bears, all joined him closer to the cranes and guard barriers at the end of the bridge. Another opportunity to take in and appreciate the staggering view we'd been afforded.

The island that the consulate would be built upon had become fully visible to us, as had the small waterway parting it from the nature reserve. We couldn't have been much more than a half mile away from the sandy shores there.

A thought that weakened my knees and stole my breath away.

So close...

...Yet so far.

Oh, to be that much closer. To chance a sighting of-

The stoat clapped his hands loud enough to shock me. "Alright then. Time is money, as they say."

As I slowly turned myself to face him, I hoped the majority of my burning irritation had cooled. A hopeless hope, it turned out, but at the very least, I think I managed to smile more than frown.

"Shall we get started?" His beaming grin seemed blinding in the sunlight. "Here's hoping this interview will help form a part of a grand story of the town. Provide a real boost for it."

"I hope so, too," I replied with what amount of sincerity I could gather.

A quick glance to my side let me see the indifference of Mick, and the clearly set jaw of Finn. For the first time that day, I agreed with the white shep.

This was all so much bigger than Zoutestrand... And I wanted our report,_our_story to show that.

A fine thought, but not one I had much scope to pursue alone.

We got ourselves all set up for the last time that day, camera positioned to allow for the new island to serve as a backdrop for our interview.

And as something to focus on if my mind started to wander mid-answer, I mused.

As sincere as it was, I tried to shake that thought from my mind. I had a job to do, and do it, I would. This rep from the mayor's office might not have been positioning himself as my most favoured of interviewees, but for the sprawling subject matter behind him, he was most certainly worth enduring.

Mick let Finn and I know that the breeze drifting over the bridge wouldn't be a disruption risk to the sound.

Too bad.

'Get it together,' I growled internally. 'You're reporting on history in the making, here!'

I sucked down a deep breath, my annoyance, my passion along with it, and found my professionalism along the way.

With Mick and Finn ready and in position, the smug, preening stoat, too, we could get things rolling in the sunshine at the end of the bridge.

Another deep breath, and another reminder to stay professional, got me in the headspace to start.

"We're here on the partly-constructed Consulate Bridge, speaking with Robert Hesselink from the mayor's office in Zoutestrand about the events unfolding here, and on the island behind us."

I turned to face him, with Finn assuredly following with his camera.

"Thanks for joining us here this afternoon, Mr. Hesselink. Much appreciated."

"You're welcome," he replied, his smile somehow expanding for the camera. "And thank you."

"It's a fine day, and a fine time for you and the town of Zoutestrand, so key and so central to this new development. You must be thrilled."

"Absolutely," the stoat said with full authority once I'd held the mic towards him. "These are truly great times for both the town, and our region."

"Historic times, also. For the whole country."

"Certainly, certainly." His broad grin persisted. The conversation topic didn't. "I'd fathom that Meerland won't have received an economic boost as significant as this since the United Nations of Polcia was fully-established after The Great War."

"Economic, and otherwise."

"Our local businesses in particular. With this new consulate, we expect to welcome so many people who are travelling to the facility, as well as its workers." He paused for a short chuckle, then confirmed, "The_Polcian-sized_ones, of course. Both current businesses, and any new businesses that begin to operate here, will surely feel the positive effects..."

"And what of the people of Zoutestrand, of the South Meerland region?"

"Of course, they too will feel the benefits. The boost to the economy and the job market. And also an increase in tourism..."

I gave him my full attention for as long as I could; honestly, I did.

Any attempt to try and bring him onto something other than economics and jobs was spun away from in typically political fashion. The economy was the area he wished to focus on, and come hell or high water, he'd do exactly that.

My own focus had gone. His mouth kept on moving, but the words coming out could have been anything.

No doubt whatever he was droning on about would make for a fine interview. One that would satisfy the editors and the director.

But it wouldn't satisfy me.

I_had_to shift the focus onto something else. Something... greater.

We_needed_to talk more about what the weather station, the consulate, and all the Bolstrovans within them would bring to the community. The community of both Zoutestrand, and beyond.

I had to ask him. Directly.

"This bridge, this link... Having Meerland so close and connected to what is essentially a part of Bolstrovo. Again, this is historic. Incredible. For everyone. Economically, yes, but... for so many more reasons, also."

That question was long. Too long. Too rambling.

In fact, it wasn't even a question.

I felt better for asking it to him, though. Maybe in part because he'd lost a small shimmer of his smugness.

"Yes, yes," the stoat said with a grumbling undercurrent. "Incredible, indeed. This link will be a benefit to all. A true show of unity between the peoples of Zoutestrand, of Meerland, and our friends in Bolstrovo; a place of course with so many people of Meerlander heritage..."

Finally, we were skirting the edge of something good, something that really mattered.

Just a little further, just a little extra, and I'd have what I wanted from this interview.

If I could ask one more question, I thought, I'd get us all the way there...

That thought came right as the rep clapped his paws together a second time. "I think we'll need to end it there."

A second and final time. So much sooner than I expected.

"Pressing matters, I'm afraid," he added, smugness at an all-time high. "Lots of work for the mayor and I to be attending to, what with how close we are to ground being broken here."

I followed the tilt of his head towards the island, and that ground to be broken.

My chance had gone.

Because before Finn, Mick or I could even look at each other, the small stoat and his ursine lumps were marching back to their car.

"Any questions, direct them to our office," he cried, opening the rear passenger door. "Thank you so much."

Into the car he climbed, slamming closed his door.

The bears squeezed into the front seats, and by the time I could even think about speaking, they were off and away back towards the mainland, leaving us alone on the bridge.

"Bye, then..." I snorted, shook my head, and with nothing else left to do, I turned to the others.

"Short but sweet," Finn grumbled as he turned off the camera. "What an asshole."

Mick hacked out a laugh before moving to unclip the shotgun mic. "He said way more than I expected him to at least."

"What's also unexpected," I said, "is that he left us here alone." I started back towards the barriers, cranes, and stray steelwork massed towards and above the end of the bridge. "A chance to get some extra B-roll footage for the interview, I'd say."

And to get another, closer look at the island, I thought.

I stopped myself at the shoulder-height guard barriers, three red-painted planks on poles planted into concrete, set up a matter of feet from the edge.

In the sands of the shore, I could just about make out the tufts of green that began where the beach began to meet the grassland.

In the grassland, I could just about see the largest shrubs on the bankside fluttering in the wind.

My stomach started to flutter along with them, building and building until I started trembling in my entirety.

Was it possible to see the weather station from there, I wondered, scanning the whole of the island visible to me. It must have been huge to be housing Visoka.

Maybe a roof or a top corner would be visible somewhere.

Ultimately, I wouldn't find any sign of it.

And I would soon be distracted by Finn calling out after me, approaching along with Mick.

"Told you how this would go down," said the shep. "Money over the people."

"I don't think you mentioned money," I replied.

"I did." He adjusted his camera in his grasp, intent on getting the B-roll footage I'd already forgotten about. "And if I didn't, I meant to."

"Uhuh."

"This whole things about money, prestige, and fuck the little people along the way."

"That's life, man." Mick said from a step behind him. "Always has been."

I didn't answer. I was done with talking, done with arguing.

Of course, the way that rep focused on money and economics wasn't a good look in my view, but it _was_still a positive. Just another in a long line that I so believed would help us 'little people', as Finn put it.

Maybe I _was_as idealistic as the jongens on the seafront, but in my heart of hearts, it gave me such hope for the future.

A future with closer ties to Bolstrovo, to Western Velikan, and, maybe in time, to the Velikan continent as a whole.

A more open world... one in which we'd not have to be so scared or so suspicious any longer.

No more bunker drills. No more constant reminders of what 'they' did to us. No more shared trauma dictating every single thing we say, think, and do.

We might not get it right away, but... someday.

A day, I prayed, I would live to see.

"Joel!" Finn screamed. "Hey- Holy shit..."

Out of my thoughts, back on the bridge, I turned around from the barrier, holding enough wherewithal to ask, "What?"

The white shep's jaw hung wide open as he scrambled to get his camera up onto his shoulder.

Mick all the while was throwing wild hands of his own, the wolverine trying his best to help rush Finn over towards the side of the bridge.

I paced over to follow them, still utterly baffled as to what they had seen...

Until I saw it, too.

Or rather. Saw him.

A figure on the beach of the island. Striding along on a slow, steady walk.

Nothing about that seemed off at first.

Then the perspectives began to mess with me.

This figure... grey... a grey wolf...

He didn't match his surroundings.

The tufts of grass. The fluttering shrubs. The bankside itself.

He was too big in comparison. Too big to be a half mile away.

We were up on that bridge, but we weren't looking down at him. Rather, we were simply looking _at_him.

Finally, my brain clicked and the penny dropped along with my jaw. "...Visoka."

Finn and Mick were still scrabbling and shifting around at the guardrail beside me, making all sorts of grunts and grumbles.

"Get rolling," Mick cried. "Before he's outta sight!"

"I am," Finn roared back. "I'm rolling, I'm... godsdamn."

I'd frozen solid, mouth open, eyes transfixed on the shore. For however long it was before I could even take breath again, I must have been in absolute shock.

And, coincidentally, it would take the shock of this massive wolf coming to a stop to snap me back to life.

There he stood... just... there. On the beach. Rising like a monolith from those sprawling sands.

Not too far from him, a small wooden dock reached out into the water. A dock that he made appear toy-sized in comparison. And one he could likely have pulled up as if it were a single plank of wood.

He shifted, shifting me into a sudden backward step, even though it was just his arms he moved.

That alone was plenty enough to leave me gasping.

Onto his hip went a hand. The other moved up to his head to remove the tan ballcap I'd only then noticed, setting off a quick flash of glinting light from his eyes.

Glasses, more than likely.

This huge Visoka wolf... this so-called threat to the town, the country, the continent... wearing a cap, glasses, a light shirt and dark shorts...

He remained standing in place, watching us with what I could only assume was the same curiosity we on the bridge held.

Not one of us moved, Maleni or Visoka. Captured within one another's gazes...

Until that wolf raised an arm.

And started to wave.

Mick burst out into a laugh full of amazement.

Finn's amazement escaped in the form of a long drone that culminated into a loud, "Gods above!"

My own amazement, my captivation, left me frozen to the spot all over again.

All I could do was stand and watch that huge Visoka wave and wave from the shore.

At us.

At me.

I was a kid again, ten years old.

Sitting on my bed beneath the window. Wishing to see the impossible.

But this here, this _was_the impossible.

I was finally looking upon the Visoka I'd dreamed of meeting.

And my nerves, my fear, the very things that'd denied me my dream... they were nowhere.

Not a chance was I going to waste that opportunity.

I broke free from those cheerful chains and rushed back to the waist-high guardrail.

"Joel," Mick cried. "What are you doing?"

My stomach smacked into the metal. I leaned forward over it as far as I possibly could.

"Hey," Finn called. "You're in my shot."

Then, I threw up my own arm and waved back at the wolf with everything I had, taking in as much air as I could so I could scream out, "Hello!"

He kept on waving. I kept on waving, as hard and as wide as I could.

I could scarcely believe what I was seeing, what I was doing.

And I doubt anyone else would have if I didn't have Finn and Mick there beside me.

Another deep inhale of sweet sea air soon became my bellowed, "Welcome!"

My arm soon started to tire, to ache, but I kept up my waving, matching that Visoka sway for sway.

I'm sure I saw him smile. Or at least, I'm positive I sensed it.

The island began to turn watery again. The beach and the wolf, too.

I might not have been looking up at him from beneath the stars.

I might not have been that kid in his room.

But in that moment, that wonderful, wonderful moment, I was living my dream.

Of course, our greeting couldn't last forever.

That towering wolf would eventually lower his arm, put on his cap, and stroll away from the beach, leaving large prints in the sand while I called my goodbyes after him.

He'd soon start along a trail leading up the bankside, then, after a few seconds more, he'd disappear behind a grassy hill.

For good.

The three of us were left in silence, only the crisp sea breeze and gentle waving waters offering sensation to our ears.

Finn looked as I felt. So utterly astounded, his eyes not knowing where to focus as he lowered his camera from his shoulder.

We'd just seen an actual Visoka. In the flesh. Right there on our shores.

I simply couldn't stay silent any longer. "That was incredible! Did you guys see that?"

"'course we did!" Mick yelled, leaping at and grabbing me by the shoulders. "That wolf was freaking huge, man, oh my gods."

Finn meanwhile had remained quiet. Unmoving.

"Hey," I called out to the white shep. "Finn? Are you okay?"

He finally managed to focus. On me. "Yeah... wow."

"Too right, wow!"

He put a paw to his forehead, jaw still hanging for as long as it took him to say, "This... is really happening. They're really here."

"It is... They are."

"And soon... even more." Finn snorted, and for a moment, just a moment, I'm certain I saw the flick of a smile. "I wonder where we go from here... What the future holds."

"Positive times," I said with all my soul. "A brighter future."

"I hope so." From then on, the shep's small smile was all the more clear. "Truly."

"Same," Mick said, his own delight spread that far wider. "We'll be living through interesting times while we wait on the answer, that's for sure."

I left those two to talk a little longer, taking out my phone and positioning myself for a picture all of my own of the island.

The realisation soon hit that I probably should have done that _before_the big Visoka wolf and I had parted ways. No matter. My memories of that moment would serve me well enough. As would the warming, comforting glow radiating from my centre that would never quite leave me again.

"What a wonderful day," I said to myself, snapping off a photo of as much of the island as I could capture. "I can't wait to see tomorrow."